"Yana!" The name broke through the silence and weight of the swamp body, more of a question than a demand. She found that the swamp was becoming more home than the tower of the Dusk Court was, and it was the secretive self-proclaimed witch that came to mind every time her legs were stained with the murky waters. She had yet been able to find her alone long enough to carry on a conversation of importance. Of all the places to find the night-streaked girl, Rann was sure a trip to the swamp would prove worthwhile.
She knew little other than the quiet eeriness in the air; she could understand Yana's desire for a home in a place unlike any other since Rann herself was fast attracted to the simpleness of the Dusk Court in comparison to the livelihood of the rivaling three. But she desired to know more, sought to learn of all the beauty Yana saw in the area most would have avoided--she could figure the similarities between the two entities and the forces that held them together, and so she invaded the spaces of tranquility to seek her out. But where, exactly,
Yana was located, she didn't know.
So Rannveig pushed her way into the heart of the waters with nothing but silence for company, occasionally calling out the name of the one she hoped to name Champion of Healing.
And all our problems make us powerless
champion of healing is yana's if you'd like her to have it! i'm so happy to offer this position to both of you c:
@Yana
take a trip to your dark side
go on and have a good cry
The white-haired girl is wading through knee-deep water when her sovereign finds her. Black lips are clamped firmly around the end of a lengthy cord, forcing the hag to address the starry woman with a lash of her tail. At the end of the rope -- of which the witch braided cattail leaves together to construct -- is a bundle of branches towing behind her on the water. She has been preparing for some time now, but the question is for what? Perhaps it is time to reveal her plan now that the newly appointed sovereign has come to meet the witch.
She ignores the idea for the time being and instead climbs out of the murky water to drag her cargo ashore. Her sooty head dips between a pair of ashen trees to retrieve the woven cords she has stashed there. The pile of braids lands next to the broken branches with a toss of the hag's head, and she finally turns to greet the one calling for her. Grey eyes reveal few emotions as they dance across the lady's lean body, but perhaps the witch's restless hooves give away her discomfort. Truth be told, the little hag prefers speaking with the star-painted warrior in public. Everything about her radiates confidence: the sense of duty abundant in the wake of her soldier's stride; the arch of her neck that hints at pride but does not convey arrogance; and the deep tones of her voice that carries commands as if they are asking friends for favours, not simply dishing out orders. The hag is interested to see how such a ruler will fair as the figurehead of a scattered realm.
There is certainly a lot to be done for this emerging kingdom, but that is not a matter for witches. Dark eyes land on teal ones at that thought, and a cough erupts from deep within her black chest. Her words are hoarse at first when she speaks, "Welcome, Rannveig. What brings you to my swamp?"
@Rannveig Super sorry I didn't get to this sooner! Thank you so much for this honor <3 Gonna let them chat it out if you don't mind? I've got some plans for the swamp I'm sure you'd like to know about hehe
The waters rippled around her legs as she pushed through the dense murkiness of it, an entire world covered in the mud below them that they could not see. The idea of hidden creatures ready to devour them both excited and frightened the one unaccustomed to the swamp's ways; though she had made it a point to frequent the land more often, she lacked a comfort she felt while tucked in the relative safety of the other Dusk territories. So it was with trepidation that she wandered directionless through a place that was very clearly not hers.
She didn't count the minutes passing by until she managed to find Yana, Rann stopping short in confusion and slight amusement as the white-speckled girl was caught in a moment of work. It seemed to take some effort on her part (albeit only physically, for she seemed to know what she was aiming to do) to drag the branches behind her. After the initial suprise of seeing her Dusk healer in the midst of labor, Rann nearly jumped to help push the sogged wood onto land, but Yana proved her own strength and she merely chuckled at the scene played out instead.
Once greeted, Rann bowed her head in return as she took note of Yana's use of 'my' swamp. She made sure to tell herself to chastise the girl later for her word choice, but the moment passed as a question formed upon the dual colored lips. "You are building?" The words slipped easily as she glanced at the branches now resting on solid ground. She realized she remained the only one of them still in the waters, "Ah, forgive..." She sloshed through the distance between them, moving onto the grassy earth beside her.
"I come to ask for your hand, but," Her lips tilted into a smile as soft eyes took in the spaces around them, "Do you require aid?" Water dripped off the tauntness of her skin, coat slick with the wetness as it stuck to her body. She couldn't imagine what Yana might have been doing with those branches, nor how taken she seemed to be by the swamp most dared not cross.
take a trip to your dark side
go on and have a good cry
She pauses for only a second to heed her queen's words before returning to her work. The occasional flicker of the girl's dark ears are a testament of her attention to their conversation, though her primary focus is on constructing a net with her pile of cords. Lengthy white tresses obscure the vision of one dull green eye, but the witch is too enveloped by her work to care. The starry girl stares intently at the floating tendrils, urging them to do her bidding as she analyses the other mare's words. My hand in what? She furrows her brow as she tries to coax one fibrous rope into a knot around another. Her teeth start to grind together both in concentration and in discomfort with her leader's blue gaze surveying her progress. She lacks the dexterity that a master would showcase, but the practice she has had braiding the cords does not fail her in this new task of tying them together. The process is slow-going, and rather than draw more attention to her inadequacy to the tall bi-colored beauty she mumbles, "Yes, aid. I require aid."
The distant croak of toads fills the uncomfortable silence following her admission. Nervousness settles upon the black tar of her hide like a swarm of gnats, her skin flinching at their persistent touch. The witch suddenly finds her mouth dry and she licks her lips: perhaps in an attempt to find the right words to say in the delicate hairs surrounding them.
Never an eloquent speaker, she pierces the pungent atmosphere with a cough, "T-tie them like this."
A leafy cord slowly bends in on itself to make a small loop. The end of it curls around the section it overlaps a number of times before feeding itself through the small tunnel it has made, resulting in a noose with a 3-foot long tail. Green eyes briefly peer up at blue ones to gauge their expression. The moment doesn't last long -- for the witch is too anxious about displeasing the stronger mare -- and her gaze quickly drops to the damp moss between her hooves. The starry girl takes a deep breath. This is your sovereign. She offers you sanctuary. This is not the enemy. She is nothing like your mother, and you owe her an explanation.
"I'm making traps. My Lady." She peeks at the taller damsel again, this time willing herself not to look away. The hag wonders if the confidence her painted sovereign radiates is transferable: she can benefit from some of it right now. "Not for intruders, mind you. But for my... studies." This admittance undoes her: the head that was previously bowed by the weight of intimidation -- now unburdened by it as the witch drains herself of unease with every word -- lifts to provide the warrior with all the undivided attention she deserves. Her little project can wait for the time-being; it's not as if it is trying to restore a kingdom to is former glory. "I'm sure you have little time to devote to a witch's whims. I do appreciate help, but only as long as you voice your own concerns whilst tying these with me."
It is possible that she would never understand the elaborate pull of the swamp on the girl; surely she had her own heart dedicated to places others wouldn't be part of--the forever-snow of Hiemsterra, the blood-strewn fields of Jarl--and maybe it was a similar feeling for Yana there in her Dusk niche. The quiet hum of creatures living alongside them was a comfort she could likely get used to, but her mind went other places than the swamp. With Yana's declaration of wanting to call it her own, Rann passed the task of keeping it in check to her. And though the point was for Yana to watch over it, the painted mare could never have imagined how dedicated her fellow company would be to making it truly remarkable.
She watches Yana go through the motions of focusing on both her own task and Rann's interruption, the latter of them merely hanging back to observe. There was no annoyance, no frustration in the sovereign's features as the white-speckled girl carried on with her voluntary job; instead, respect wrote itself across her heart as she waited for a moment to speak. With the admittance of requiring help, Rann picked herself up and moved toward the various lengths of cords and glanced down at them. She wasn't unfamiliar with the process of manipulating plant-life, but most of her trials were meant for weapons or healing salves. As Yana explained the deceivingly simple-looking looping of tying the threads around themselves, she picked one up and copied the demonstration. She was too invested to realize that the girl was uncomfortable around her, shifting eyes and unease safe as Yana's secret for the time.
The silence was a heavy thing as she worked on picking up yet another cord, determined to help her swamp witch. Yet the blackened mare spoke up again, and a slight smile passed over the cream and blue colored's lips. Traps seemed a little unnecessary when the swamp waters itself was more likely to pick up any prey wandering through, but she did not question the motive behind the reasoning. The explanation came shortly after, and sea-green eyes measured Yana evenly. "And what is the study?" She chuckled lightly, dropping her cord and giving the girl as much attention that she gave herself. The true purpose of the job didn't much matter to her, but teasing her to-be champion would hopefully lighten the mood.
She swung her head in disagreement at Yana's statement of 'not having time' for her, but skipped to her own thoughts. "You have helped some already, with ailments," and she paused slightly to allow the words a chance to resonate, "And I wish you to be our Champion of Healing." When the words left her tongue, her lips turned into a reassuring smile as she remembered Florentine's disbelief and doubt when she made her Emissary. "It would require more time at the tower, teaching other caretakers of the skills of healing..." And there she trailed off, letting some time for Yana to process her newest, bold request.
And all our problems make us powerless
the amount of sorry that i am for how long this took cannot be expressed ;; <333
@Yana